Maybe you should keep me close
by J.A.Kishu
Summary: Another kind of way how Sherlock and John could have met. Chasing a criminal can end in the cold Thames for a detective. Luckily a soldier is someone who knows how to save a drowning person.
1. The bored soldier

**Chapter 1: The bored soldier**

Life is boring, nothing ever happened to him, nothing ever will. John Watson was a soldier and a doctor. But now all that remained was being a doctor in an A&E in the next hospital, all because of a bullet. That something so small could cause so much damage. Not only to the body, but to a soul and a future. It changed John Watson's life and right now he thinks it was only to the worst possible way. A life alone, in a city which offered nothing to entertain him, anything enough to stop his hands from shacking. John Watson is a doctor, a really good one in his opinion, but he worked best under pressure. Like treating wounded soldiers during a bullet storm for example. Here in London he doesn't have to fear his enemy or that his companions will die in a sandy dessert without a chance to say goodbye to their loved ones.

John Watson has nightmares. He knows why but still there is nothing what stops them from waking him in the middle of the night. Like an hour ago. All what he can do is get up, get dressed and walk a few hours to stop the crushing feeling on his lungs of not having enough oxygen. He takes slow and deep breaths while walking next to the Thames. The one thing he likes about London is this river. It's around four in the morning and nobody is walking, nothing can be heard. Except a few cars on the road above him when he walks under a bridge. Nothing unusual, everything is like always, boring. A sleeping city.

"Stop" a man's lightens the darkness like a flash through the silent night. His soldier mode gets active and John Watson was on the move. He locates a man under the bridge only a few meters away. He could see two other mean, a skinny one very close to the first man and a second one must be the one who had shouted. "Stop, police, stop running" the police officer shouted, but John Watson could hear his breathless voice nearly breaking at the end, not a good runner. The skinny one was on the first man and was tackling him. But the first one wasn't skinny, light or small. It was a tall man with a lot of muscle and he didn't move when both men came in contact, he just hit the head of his attacker. The skinny one was a little bit unsteady on his feet after the fist had hit him. The first one took advantage of this moment and gripped him around his neck pointing a knife on his skin. The police officer stopped, draws his gun and aiming at the first one.

After that everything happened very quickly, the skinny one duck to the side of the river, the police officer shot and hit the first one in his left shoulder. The impact pushed the skinny one against the rail and, not able to keep his balance, he fell down into the dark and cold Thames below him.

John Watson was practically already in the water with his shoes of as the man hit the surface and started to sink. The bridge wasn't too high but definitely more the 15 meters, which was enough to knock a man out. Even if he had not been hit on the head just a few seconds before that. John couldn't see much in the water but when he thought he was close to the man, he dived down and saw a bit of white skin two or three meters under him illuminated by the light of the city. With his arms around the man's really skinny chest John Watson burst through the surface and let the air run through his lungs again. It was a good thing the man was so light or it would have been harder to swim to the water side. As he reached the bank and got the man on solid land his soldier mode switched off and the doctor mode was on. With cold fingers he touched the man's neck to find a pulse, but there was none. He must have stopped breathing as he sunk down. John Watson immediately resuscitation procedures. Strong hands pushed down on the man's chest, again and again. There was no reaction. Next he leaned over the man ready to start mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Suddenly the skinny man's eyes opened. Bright grey eyes met his own. They were very close but it wasn't uncomfortable. The skinny one observed him just for a few seconds with a relaxed look on his face, than he turned to his side and with a bit of help from John the man could cough up some of the river water. Not a word was spoken till the police officer came close enough to be heard. "Sherlock are you ok?" he spoke with fear in his voice. It was more than fear; it was horror at thought of losing him. The man who was now lying on his side had to be someone special for the police officer who was now kneeling beside him. He first made sure that he was breathing than looked at John. "Thank you for saving this idiot." with relief in his eyes he turned back to the man and started shouting at him angrily. "How often do I have to tell to wait for me, you can't go off on your own, you are not an official part of the Yard, in the end you will get hurt or worse you will be my next case. Sherlock talk to me. Do you understand that it is dangerous to go off on your own?" The man called Sherlock opened his eyes or better rolled his eyes at the police officer 's comment. "Please Lestrade, shut up, I'm fine. Nothing happened." Sherlock mumbled and started pushing himself up from the ground, now sitting on his knees. "I would call a heart stopping and lungs not breathing a bit not good." John remarked sarcastically. Sherlock moved his head and watched the doctor close. Without help or throwing another look back at the doctor he stood up and walked back to the bridge. "Never mind him, he is always like this, I have never heard a 'thank you' from him. But I'm glad you were here. I would probably have been too late." Lestrade excused his companion. "Do you need a ride home?" he offered and after a head shake from John he followed him back to the suspect.

John stood up, got his shoes back on and started walking home. After a few meters he stopped and looked down at his hands. The constant shaking had stopped. He could still feel the adrenalin flowing through his body and had a picture of the bright grey eyes of the man named Sherlock in his mind. Maybe there was a bit of action in this city, maybe sometimes. And with a smile on his face he knew this time he would sleep well.


	2. The caring detective

**Chapter 2: The caring detective**

Silence, all around him, no light. He can't breathe but doesn't care, breathing is boring. He is so tired. Why is he tired? There was the case and the chase and then? Nothing. What had happened after he had set foot on the bridge? He couldn't remember and that was something which worried Sherlock Holmes immensely. Why was everything dark around him?

Sherlock disliked darkness, especially when he didn't choose it. It was one of the reasons he didn't sleep much. Sleep was darkness, his brain, now not in use, was no longer in control and the feeling of emptiness was hateful and made him a bit nervous. Always, after a long and exhausting case when the rush and the adrenalin dropped, he could collapse into a dreamless sleep and forget about the darkness which was trying to destroy him.

But this time a new feeling crawled into the darkness. He could feel his mind back go back to his body. To the fall in the river. Why were mind and body separate entities anyway? There was a pressure on his chest, it kept coming back and it hurt more than just a little bit. When it stopped again, he opened his eyes.

The silence and darkness vanished and were replaced by beautiful, shiny blue eyes only a few centimeters away from his own. Blue eyes who were watching him closely. Eyes which had seen blood and violence but also beauty and love. And these eye were not in shock or scared or worried. The man with these eyes was calm, his eyes were calm. He knew what he had to do and that was all that mattered in that moment.

Sherlock wanted to take a breath of fresh air and turned his head sideways away from the man. The hand of the doctor (he was sure he was a doctor) on his shoulder to support him so that the water he had swallowed during his involuntary dive into the Thames could come out. With closed eyes he let the warm night air of his beloved city into his lungs again.

Lestrade's voice is next to him and Sherlock just ignores it. It takes a minute to be ready to get up, back to business. There is a criminal on the bridge, the one who pushed him down into the Thames. Lestrade is still talking. "Please Lestrade, shut up, I'm fine. Nothing happened." And he is fine, still alive, no damage which couldn't be fix by a bit of sleep and maybe food (two of the things Sherlock saw as being unnecessary and boring, because his body is just transport for his brain and too much of both slows him down). The voice of the doctor catches his attention again, "I would call a heart stopping and not breathing a bit not good."

Interesting, Sherlock thinks, but not important right now, there is a suspect and not even nearly drowning could stop Sherlock from going after him. The thoughts about the doctor are saved inside his mind palace and kept there for later analysis. His body hurts a bit but he gets up and walks away from the doctor and Lestrade without thinking about them or thanking the doctor. Only the case is relevant, people only distract him.

* * *

The case with the runner and his near death had been a week ago. Lestrade was still a bit angry about his reckless behavior and didn't answer his messages when Sherlock asked for a new case.

His flat was a mess. Again. Ms. Hudson was away, with her sister, he thinks, but can't really remember the conversation. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, the table in front of him loaded with already solved case files, empty and dirty tea cups, newspapers about a robbery and a fire in a lab somewhere outside London (maybe a case?), a plate with half a toast from yesterday morning and his skull. Sherlock had found it again after Ms. Hudson had taken it away from him for being stubborn about something or other.

The boredom is back; he returns to his mind palace to find something interesting and comes across the blue eyes of his savior. Every time he closes his eyes to sleep or relax, Sherlock can see them. Why couldn't he delete them? Or store them in a room in his mind palace? It was annoying. Sherlock could deduce a lot about his savior: he was a doctor but also a soldier, a former one and recently back from his mission because of an injured shoulder. Sherlock had seen the lack of sleep in his face and the nightmares that woke the man every night and brought him to his walk by the river. He was a good doctor with steady hands and a sense of authority about him that would lead everyone to do what he wanted. His eyes showed a kindness Sherlock had never seen in a soldier's eyes. The man was interesting, not like Lestrade who had been panicking about something so small as almost drowning. He wouldn't even have needed help if the suspect hadn't hit his head. Sherlock had just been a bit dizzy. The doctor had good reflexes and Sherlock guessed they must have been in the water at the same time. One of the things that had saved him. The doctor's fast reaction.

On the bridge as he had turned back to look out for Lestrade, Sherlock had seen the doctor walking down the river. He had stopped and looked at his hands, finally realizing that they had stopped shaking. The doctor had looked back at Sherlock, too far away to really see him, nodded and then started walking again with a smile on his face.

Back to reality Sherlock also had a smile on his face he couldn't explain. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the ringing of his phone Lestrade's number appearing on the display. It was only a message with the address of a hospital. Sherlock took his coat and scarf and not a minute later he was sitting in a cab on his way to a new crime scene. End of the boredom. Gone was also the picture of his doctor's blue eyes.

* * *

The crime scene was inside the hospital, in the morgue to be precise. Someone had murdered a security guard and stolen five corpses. Two men and three women. Lestrade told Sherlock everything he knew about the victim and the stolen bodies from the reports the coroner had written. Sherlock looked around and the evidence showed clearly that the suspect had only been interested in one of the bodies. It was the first one he had taken. The other four were only meant to distract and confuse the police. It was one of the women, but Sherlock wasn't sure why they wanted the body. "Why was she here? Didn't she die in the hospital like the other ones?" He asked while kneeling on the ground looking for clues. "She had a car accident, a few hours after finishing her day in in the lab she works in. There had been a theft at the lab. They thought she was an accomplice. But there is no evidence for that." Lestrade said with a look of concentration, following every move Sherlock did. "The autopsy hadn't been done yet, why? Do you know what was stolen in the lab?" Sherlock paced over to the body of the security guard, lifted his arm at an inappropriate angle. Lestrade twitched but didn't comment on it, he was used to it. He just sighed and answered: "No autopsy yet and the lab case is not mine. I just know they are testing some sort of medicine, I think against some sort of virus or something like that." Sherlock stopped. There was nothing in the papers about a virus. But that was understandable, it would cause panic and chaos. Sherlock knew exactly what was missing and where the stolen item was. In the hands of the murderer, also thief and probably soon a black market seller of a dangerous virus. Maybe a bioterrorist. He wasn't sure what was worse. But Sherlock knew where the suspect was right now. In the hospital, hiding in plain sight to either get away or spread the virus. Whatever it was, it was a bit not good. Sherlock stopped his thoughts smiling inside. In his mind he had used the exact same words his doctor had used. Not even during an investigation, the one thing which usually kept all other thoughts away, he could forget the doctor. He sighed loud and got a look from Lestrade. "You should start locking up the hospital so that nobody can leave; we have a very dangerous killer running around with a probably deadly virus in his possession. Lestrade's face wasn't the only one that lost all his color and sparks of fear appeared in all their eyes. "The best way out is through the A&E. We should start looking for our suspect there." Sherlock suggested in a calm voice.

The police force started moving again: They were all professionals, they were trained well, but right now they had needed a small push in the back to get their frozen bodies to do something. Lestrade was on the phone locking up the building, while the other Yarders spread in different directions to secure all exits. Sherlock started with Lestrade to the A&E.

They started by looking for the doctor in charge. The nurse at the reception pointed to a not really impressing small man's back, who was reading some documents. Sherlock's first thought was that he looked familiar. As Lestrade called the man's name, which the nurse had given him, the doctor turned around and Sherlock was standing in front of his doctor, the soldier/doctor who had saved him. "Dr. John Watson, I'm DI Lestrade, I need to talk to you on a grave matter. Oh, you are the one from the riverside." Lestrade finished talking. Dr. Watson looked first to Lestrade and then to Sherlock who just stared at him and back to Lestrade. "How can I help you?" The DI explained the situation as good as he could. The doctor was listening but his eyes kept jumping every few seconds to Sherlock observing him with interest. "To make sure I understand you correctly let me summarize: you want me to clear the A&E, meaning more than a dozen sick and injured people, plus their relatives, without attracting the attention of you murder suspect, about whom you don't even know how what he looks like." Dr. Watson asked amused. "Sounds totally crazy, so let's do it!" Not only Lestrade looked surprise, also Sherlock watched the doctor closely. He was calm and focused and not shocked or scared like the police officers had been a few minutes before in the morgue. Again, Sherlock thought, it wasn't something normal people would say. Interesting. But not now, there would be time for this later.

It was time for Sherlock to show why he was here. "All you have to do is to keep the people out of my way. I will tell you who he is and what kind of criminal. So wait till I tell you to shoot at him or tackle him or something." Sherlock walked slowly to the middle of the room, with clear and open eyes observing everything. He knew what he is looking for, the precise figure, the smell and the kind of emotion which would be showing on his face. A mix of guilt, fear, suspicion but mostly arrogance. He believed, nobody would find him. But Sherlock knew how to look for someone like him. He watched a mother with her three children: one was crying and was probably the reason they were here in the first place. An old man with his very young female friend: something had probably happened doing their time in bed; no need to analyze this further analysis. A group of teenagers, mostly boys, who were showing signs of a heavy fight on their bodies. As he was ending his walkthrough he saw him: a man, hiding behind a wall. He must have been there since arriving, out of sight but still close enough to watch what was happening. He was dressed like a hospital employee but his appearance didn't belong here. The suspect was now standing, for Sherlock's liking, a bit too close to his doctor. Sherlock spotted him in the same moment as he looked in his direction and he recognized him. Probably not Sherlock himself, but he probably noticed on his behavior that Sherlock was looking for him, like part of the police, and so he was an enemy.

Sherlock could follow his movements: the hand in his pocket pulling out a knife, the man stepping forward and putting the knife on the neck of his doctor, his moving backwards with the doctor as his hostage and the surprise in the eyes of Dr. Watson. Sherlock watched as Lestrade jumped back from the danger, pulling out his gun and aiming at the suspect. But Sherlock didn't move; how could he? His doctor was in danger. It wasn't even the threat of a bioweapon lurking above them, it was something deeper. The doctor was something interesting, someone he couldn't quite understand yet, but if something or someone were to take the doctor away now, he would never be able to figure him out.

And finally his mind started working again, fast as always, looking for a way to both save the doctor and catch the suspect. The easiest way he could think of should do it, even if it could be a bit dangerous. Sherlock lifted his hands, to show he was unarmed and walked slowly toward the suspect, fixing his eyes only on him and ignoring the doctor completely.

Sherlock spoke louder. "Look around you, there is no exit, you're surrounded. Whatever you want to do, there is no way out and nothing you do will change it. You can just stop here. It's a hospital, the people here are already in a situation they probably don't like. So how about we let all the patients, nurses and doctors leave and you, me and the police sort out this whole mess?" Lestrade's first thought was that Sherlock's words sounded logical but not in his normal Sherlock way. It was not his usual cold and straight forward 'case mode' speech. The suspect wasn't impressed. "So, you think I will let my hostage go and wait till you and your police friends can come and arrest me?" Sherlock knew this would come and what followed he would never be able to explain to anyone, because it sort of came as a surprise to himself as well. "How about an exchange? Me for the doctor? I am not carrying a weapon. I am not really part of the Scotland Yard, so nobody can tell me what to do and the doctor you are holding hostage is an ex-soldier. Not really the best choice of hostage, if you ask me." The doctor looked surprised not about the exchange suggestion, but at the soldier thing and only then did he react. "You can't." But Sherlock stopped him with just one look. Both came to an understanding that this was Sherlock's turn; he was the one who was trying to talk the suspect down. This was his job right now. There was no injured person for a doctor to treat nor a fight for the soldier to get involved in. It was time for the detective.


	3. The healing doctor

**Chapter 3: The healing doctor**

This was the best week John had had since he was back from Afghanistan. Since the incident on the riverside, he could sleep not only sleep but also dream without the nightmares. His hand had stopped shaking that night and hadn't started again. And all that only because he had saved a crazy man, called Sherlock, who wasn't able to look after himself. And John was sure this was the case after what the detective had said about his eating and sleeping habits, and also his ignoring his own safety. John would have liked to meet him again, just to talk or something. But with only a first name and a description, there was no way to find a person in London.

* * *

John never expected to meet him again and especially not so quickly, just a week later. It was a normal day in the A&E, a car crash, a few household accidents and a bit of a domestic drama in the waiting area, nothing special. He was reading a few documents about his last patient as a familiar voice called his name. He couldn't relate where he had heard it before, as he turned around standing there were not only the detective from the riverside but also his crazy man, Sherlock. John was a bit surprised about the whole situation but he was a soldier and knew what to do. First things first: don't panic. But John didn't feel panic, he felt excitement and he knew that was a 'bit not good'. It was easier for him to divide situations in good and non-good ones. Like this one, the virus thing, was not good. So as a soldier he had to do something about it, especially if the police was asking. It wasn't a warzone, so it wasn't his turn to lead, but he needed to follow orders or, in this particular case, help a crazy man and Scotland Yard to evacuate the patients out of here. John was ready and his apparently calm manner surprised them both. A small smile of joy appeared on Sherlock's face, happy to find someone somewhat odd, like himself. He moved slowly to the middle of the room, eyed every person in it carefully and John could see his thinking, he saw the fire in the detective's eyes, the sorting and separation in yes could be or no better not, never losing sight of the suspect. John didn't know how he did, but it but it was fascinating. But the look John received from Sherlock as he turned again in John's direction wasn't one of excitement or joy. It was fear. Just for a short moment, maybe just for a second, but it was there. And then he felt the knife on his neck. John had been so concentrated on Sherlock he missed it. How could he miss a man with a weapon behind him. In the sandy desert of Afghanistan doing something like that was equal to your death sentence. John had been distracted and now he had a knife on his neck.

In front of him Sherlock didn't look concerned and after he had told the thief/murderer that he had a soldier as a hostage he also knew why. Sherlock could read people, he probably had found out more about John in the few seconds on the riverside thank John would know after living with the man for a decade. As Sherlock offered himself as a hostage in place of John, he couldn't just stand there and wait and tried to stop him. But Sherlock was immersed in his game now; no way would he let someone else play with him and the suspect. But the man behind John wasn't impressed or ready to make a deal with his crazy man.

"The nice doctor you are holding as a hostage, won't do anything, if you let us swap places." Sherlock said while closing the gap between John and himself. The man behind John moved his hand (the one without a knife) and showed them a small glass vial containing an orange liquid. "Don't come any closer or I will let this virus kill us all slowly and painfully. No one move. Nor the police nor all the nice people, the doctor here or you, whoever you are." The hand with the virus was shaking slightly. While talking he flipped his eyes to the police officer, the other patients, nurses and family members. During this time Sherlock's and John's eyes had time to meet. Without words, John knew, that whatever was going to happen, it would be his job to catch the virus if it was dropped, to grab it if the situation was right or a signal was given. "If anyone moves we will all die, so don't play with me." The suspect shouted again and moved his line of sight back to Sherlock.

The situation could have ended much worse. The way it all happened wasn't ideal but at least everyone survived. Something unexpected was always bound to come about and everything happened in seconds.

The whole room was silent; the threat heavy in the air, as suddenly next to John the door to the stairways pushed opened and a small boy not older than nine years old ran into John and the suspect. The suspect wasn't prepared for this, he moved his head fast in confusion. And there it was, Sherlock's signal and John moved fast then ever in his life before. Because the suspect let the vial fall the same second the boy bumped into them. With one hand John caught the falling virus and with the other pressed the boy to his side turning them both away from the suspect, still open for the knife to get him but with the virus and the boy secure. John couldn't see what happened next. Expecting a knife between his ribs, he instead heard a thumping noise and the suspect screaming and now lying on the floor, Sherlock on top of him, holding his hands on his back, the knife a few meters away in the corner. John hadn't seen what happened, but the red spots on the floor leading to the knife where definitely blood.

Lestrade finally back in action went over to Sherlock, putting handcuffs on their suspect's wrist and pushing him out of sight. John let the boy go and he ran over to his family, not sure what happened. The doctor turned around to his crazy man. But something wasn't right with Sherlock, his breathing was a bit odd and his movements were not as elegant as before, face white and sweating profusely.

For the first time, John talked to his crazy man. "Sherlock, are you hurt?" John moved over to the place Sherlock was standing. There was no answer to his question. John's eyes scanned Sherlock's whole body trying to locate the point of injury. John touched Sherlock lightly on the shoulder and the removed the dark coat and the jacket he was wearing. John discovered a big red spot on Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock looked down on the red blotch, touching it with a hand and then looking at the blood on his hand, before looking up again. Meeting John's eyes he said "I guess I need your services now." With this Sherlock's eyes closes, his legs gave way and if John hadn't caught him, he would have landed hard on the floor.

* * *

Already in action, John called for support and Sherlock was brought into an emergency room where he would be examined. He woke up, in the middle of being stitched up and watched John do his work. A small smile on his face.

John didn't know what to do with that and just said the next thing that popped up in his brain.

"You should try to be a bit more careful; you could be somewhere alone and there would be no one around to help you." John tried not to sound like a mother or a worried wife. But what else could you say to someone so reckless. Sherlock was hurt because he had jumped between John and the knife and before Sherlock had been able to disarm the man, he had got the change to cut Sherlock deep in the side.

"I guess it is sometimes better to have a doctor with you." Was Sherlock's only remark. Still following every move of John's work.

"Maybe you should keep me close to you then." John said with a smile, still concentrated on his work, patching up the detectives wounds, and seeing more scars on the man's chest then he had seen on soldiers he treated during the war.

"Maybe I will do this, I still owe you one." Sherlock answered with a surprised look on his face, not sure if this was the right thing to say to someone he barely knew, but his mouth was too fast and it was out before he could stop saying it or even think about it. Both men looked each other in the eye, understanding what was said and not said. No words seemed necessary between them.


End file.
